Strelnikov
4th Level Red Feather
- Joined
- May 7, 2001
- Messages
- 1,820
- Points
- 0
by Strelnikov
Copyright 2003 by the author
Dramatis Personae (in order of appearance)
Brittany Righetti
Brittany is 18 years old and has lived on Tickle Street all of her life. She has long, dark hair and brown eyes, a beautiful Italian face and features, curves in all the right places. She has a bit of an attitude, but it can quickly be destroyed if she's tickled. She's by far the most ticklish person on Tickle Street.
Vicky and Veronica Righetti
Brittany’s older sisters. They’re "mirror twins" – identical, but Vicky, the leader, is a lefty (Latin “sinister”) and Veronica is right handed. They’re 20 years old, medium height, with very trim and fit figures that they maintain by martial arts. They have shoulder length wavy dark brown hair, dark brows and lashes, brown eyes. Like Brittany, they’re extremely ticklish, but since they’re a team, they don’t get tickled much.
Sara Rosen
She’s an 18-year-old adrenaline junkie, a risk-taker who likes to…let’s just say bend…the law. She’s built like Dolly Parton, a small girl with a slender waist and amazing upper body development. She has long dark brown hair, beautiful green eyes, and a fit, toned body. She’s extremely ticklish. She’s an enthusiastic tickler, on the principle that it’s more blessed to give than to receive.
Emily MacDonald
Emily is a petite girl with bright green eyes and a glorious mane of fiery red hair. She's somewhat older than the rest of the senior class at TCHS – she spent a year in rehab after a car wreck. She and her widowed father moved to Tickle Street last summer. Her ticklishness is her greatest weakness, she feels that it makes her too girly and weak.
…plus the Usual Suspects.
********************
The dog really did follow Brittany home from school. She had first noticed him the day after Easter break, while she was walking to school – he had followed her part of the way there. The next day, he had followed her all the way, and was waiting for her when she walked back to Tickle Street that afternoon.
He was skinny, dirty and collarless – Brittany guessed that he was living in the woods north of the neighborhood. He was medium size, about knee high on Brittany at his shoulders, with a shaggy brindle-colored coat and floppy ears. In other words, he was a Heinz – “57 Varieties” – with a lot of terrier in the mix.
Her fatal mistake was feeding him – after that, he was her pal for life. Mom was less than pleased. But Brittany gave Daddy her best puppy-eye look, and that settled it – Chuck Righetti was a sucker for his baby girl, and he brought Mom along.
Brittany named him Spanky. He was friendly enough, just out of puppyhood, energetic and eager to please. He was already housebroken, already knew a number of doggy tricks; evidently, some worthless bastard had gotten tired of him and dumped him in the woods. As dogs go, he was pretty bright. Brittany never had to show him a new trick more than once or twice.
And that attracted the attention of Brittany’s sisters, who joined her in training him and playing with him. Now that spring was here, Vicky and Veronica started taking Spanky for long walks in the woods. They told Brittany that they were giving him a special course of training.
Brittany knew better than to ask for details. She figured she was better off not knowing what they were up to.
***
The Ancient and Honorable Society of Vellatrices had their regular Saturday afternoon meeting at Candice’s house. They were all peeled down to bra and panties – the sort of tickling they did was hot work.
Brittany, Joanna, Meghan and Melissa started off with a noisy four-way tickle fight. Morgan and Ashley had decided on some foot tickling – Morgan had lost the toss, and was hogtied on the couch, laughing her head off. Emily joined Sara in tickling Candice – they tickled her from head to toe and every place between, until she was red faced and gasping for breath.
Not that Candice minded, of course.
The three girls took a break and watched the rest of the action.
Joanna, Meghan and Melissa had ganged up on Brittany, and she was really getting it – she was howling with forced mirth. Her wrists were tied together over her head, with Joanna kneeling on the loose ends of the rope to anchor it. Joanna’s hands roamed up and down Brittany’s ribs, getting on each rib and the spaces in between. Meghan straddled her hips – she tickled Brittany’s sides, onto and across her tummy, and back to the sides again, over and over. Melissa had Brittany’s ankles in a leg lock, tickling her feet with both hands. Brittany struggled and squirmed, laughing like mad, trying desperately to escape the tickling.
Morgan was laughing at the top of her lungs. As they watched, Ashley tickled between her toes with an electric tooth brush, then held them back and tickled the sweet spots – the exact center of her soles, along the creases – where it really, really tickled. Morgan wasn’t struggling any more, all resistance had been tickled out of her.
All in all, it was a normal Saturday afternoon. But for some reason, Sara wasn’t into the action today. She felt restless. Maybe it was the fine spring weather – it really was too nice a day to spend indoors.
When she mentioned it to the others, she found out that Emily felt the same way. Candice was a little disappointed – she and Sara had been playing tickling games since they were little kids – but there were plenty of others who wanted to play. Sara and Emily excused themselves and went upstairs to Candice’s room to get dressed.
Emily had always been different, but Sara had noticed another change today – Emily’s surgical scars had faded to imperceptibility. The doctors who had put her back together after the wreck had really known their business, Sara thought. Emily’s skin, so fair it seemed almost translucent, was clear and unblemished. Sara knew that Emily was older – she had missed a year of school after the wreck – but today she looked all of about 15 years old.
They dressed without saying much to each other – somehow, Emily had a way of making Sara feel like a willful, thoughtless and none-too-bright kid. Their relationship – it couldn’t really be called a friendship – was cordial and correct but not close. Of all the girls on Tickle Street, Sara knew that Emily liked her the least.
That bothered Sara. She decided to take a chance. “How about a walk in the Hundred Acre Wood, Emily?” she asked. “It’s really pretty this time of year.”
Emily considered before she answered. “OK,” she replied at last. “Sounds like fun. But we need sweat shirts and better shoes. Sneakers will do. Meet me at my house.”
Sara was a little surprised that Emily agreed to the expedition. She and Emily had gotten off to a rocky start last fall – Emily had blacked her eye. Back then, Emily had been… not unfriendly, really, but distant. She had been pleasant enough on the rare occasions when she troubled to pass the time with others. She was unfailingly polite, and she never complained. Candice, who was unusually perceptive for someone her age, had remarked to Sara that conflict is a form of intimacy. Quite obviously, Emily hadn’t wanted to be close to anybody.
The Vellatrices had finally succeeded in recruiting Emily last Halloween. She had opened up since then, and revealed another side of herself. She seemed to take more joy in life now, and took occasional risks for the sake of a good time – carefully calculated risks, not like Sara’s never-refuse-a-dare style. She was practical, down-to-earth, and an astute observer – she didn’t miss much, and could spot a liar through a stone wall. She had a nimble wit, a wry sense of humor, and (surprisingly) a taste for dreadful puns. Maybe they would get to know each other a little better today – Sara hoped so, anyway.
A few minutes later, Sara and Emily cut through Emily’s back yard and into the woods.
It wasn’t 100 acres, of course – it was actually about a mile square. But the neighborhood kids had called the wooded area north of Tickle Street the Hundred Acre Wood years ago, and the name had stuck. The area was hilly, rocky, heavily overgrown with second growth forest. Owl Creek entered it from the south before turning northeast between steep banks. An old railroad grade, long disused, crossed diagonally from southeast to northwest.
The day was perfect. It was bright, sunny, with just a few fluffy white clouds drifting overhead. The trees were just leafing out in pale green, the redbuds showed flashes of pink through the trees, wildflowers bloomed in the sunny spots. Bees droned among the blossoms. The songbirds were back, color and music on the wing.
“Look – the bluebirds are back,” Emily said. “I’ve always liked them. There’s just a few of them now – their population crashed just before the War.”
“What war, Emily?” Sara asked.
“Oh – World War II. Grandmother said there were flocks of them, but they just about disappeared 70 years ago. English sparrows crowded them out, about the same time the blight killed the chestnut trees. It’s too bad.”
They hiked along the trail to Owl Creek, then turned left at the fork and followed the creekside trail to the abandoned railroad grade and the old iron truss railroad bridge. There was a pool just downstream, scoured out by the stream flowing between the bridge abutments. A rope tied to an overhanging tree branch suggested that the pool was used as a swimming hole. But it was still too cool to even think about swimming.
The near-side bank was steep – the opposite bank had a gentler slope. The two girls crossed the bridge and climbed down to the water’s edge. Emily dipped her hand in the water – it was icy cold.
“There’s a place downstream that’s really nice,” Sara said.
“I remember – that’s where I punched your lights out,” Emily replied.. “Relax – I won’t do it again. Maybe we can get there along the bank.”
But the creek was running high with the spring rains. It rushed between the bridge piers and made white water over the rocks. The water was too high to walk downstream – the stream just about filled its banks.. They returned the way they came, recrossed the bridge and headed back along the trail.
The trail forked, and they turned right, away from the creek. This trail opened out into a clearing a little bigger than a football field, bright with wildflowers and new spring grass. At one end was an area of tumbled stones and a single feral rose bush, not yet in bloom.
“There was a cabin here a long time ago,” Sara explained. “These stones are what’s left of the fireplace and chimney.”
“I know,” Emily replied. “That flat rock next to the rose bush – that’s the sill stone for the door. The hearth stone is over there.”
Emily looked around, pointed. “They buried their dead on top of that hill. Have you ever been there? You have to know what to look for – it’s pretty well overgrown.”
She stood quietly, gazing pensively toward the overgrown cemetery, then continued. “It was always the high places, and always facing East, to be ready for the morning of Judgement Day,” she said. “These folks outlined the graves with rocks, and carved the headstones themselves. Soft stone… the names and dates are gone now… I wonder who they were...”
“It doesen’t matter,” Sara said with the callousness of the young. “They’ve all been dead for over a hundred years.”
“They were people like us, Sara,” Emily said quietly. “They had lives, families, friends and enemies. Just making a living here was a triumph – this land would be hard to farm. Tragedies too – some of those graves were small – children’s graves.” She paused, then continued. “They built this country. They deserve your respect.”
It made Sara uncomfortable – Emily had done it to her again. Emily’s appearance hadn’t changed, but her demeanor had. It was the sort of lecture Sara might have expected from someone of her grandmother’s generation, someone feeling the cold wind of her own approaching mortality.
And that was preposterous – Emily couldn’t be much more than 19 years old. It must be an artifact of her near-death experience in the wreck. Sara mumbled something apologetic and changed the subject.
Emily was willing – the moment had passed, and she really didn’t want to spoil the day. In her own way, she was trying as hard as Sara to make things right between them. She showed Sara some of the wild herbs that grew in the clearing and the edge of the forest, explained the uses of each – not merit badge stuff, but solid, detailed, practical information. That was almost as disconcerting as the lecture had been. Where had she learned those things?
Emily eventually wound down, and the girls flopped down on the soft spring grass. They laid there on their backs in companionable silence for an hour or so, listening to the birds and watching the clouds drifting by. Sara had almost drifted off to sleep when…
A dog barked some distance away. It must have stirred up the crows – a flock of them flew over, cawing.
The girls sat up to investigate. Two crows, bolder than their companions, had landed on a bare branch across the clearing.
“Count the crows,” Emily said. “One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a burial, four for a birth. Looks like we’re in for a few laughs, Sara.”
She had done it again! “Where did that come from, Emily?” Sara asked.
“I had a neighbor once, an old lady from the West Virginia mountains. She used to say that.” The answer was truthful, as far as it went. “The holler she came from isn’t there any more – Mr. Peabody’s coal train hauled it away.”
A brindle-colored mutt ran out into the clearing, then doubled back into the woods. That was Brittany’s dog. Maybe she had left the tickle party early too.
But Vicky and Veronica entered the clearing, the dog at their heels. They had gone for the expedition look today – hiking clothes with lots of pockets, long-billed caps, solid shoes.
Uh-oh, thought Sara. She knew all too well that the twins were fiendish, inventive and enthusiastic ticklers. Being tickled by them was an experience not easily forgotten. She stood and gave Emily a hand up – they might have to run for it.
Vicky pulled a retractable reel-type leash out of a pocket and clipped it to the dog’s collar. “Hey Sara! What brings you and Emily out here?” she called out.
“We’re just loafing,” Sara replied, “same as you two.” They’re up to something, she thought as the twins approached.
“Loafing? Moi? I’m walking my dog,” Vicky said with mock indignation.
“We’ve been giving him a special course of training…” Veronica added.
“…and it looks like we’re about to give him his final exam,” Vicky finished the thought.
The twins had closed in. They were now about fifteen feet away from Sara and Emily – too far away to grab them. Sara glanced at Emily, and saw that she was poised on the balls of her feet, ready for fight or flight.
Vicky tripped the release on the leash reel. “Spanky – LOOP!” she called out.
The dog trotted over to Emily, who stepped aside warily, keeping him in sight. He passed her and crossed around behind. What in the world…?
Spanky dug in and ran around Emily twice, then back toward Vicky. Vicky locked the reel and gave a yank. The leash tightened around Emily’s ankles and pulled her feet out from under her.
“Hey!” Sara said, and reached down to help Emily up. “RUN FOR IT, SARA!” Emily yelled.
But the twins were too fast. They were already moving before Sara could even turn to run. They tackled her and brought her down. Veronica sat on her and subdued her with a joint lock. Vicky zip-tied her ankles together and immobilized her.
Emily tried to kick free of the leash, but Vicky grabbed it and pulled the loop tight. Veronica pulled a pair of old nylons out of a pocket, and the twins overpowered Emily and hogtied her with them.
Vicky flicked open her balisong and cut the zip-tie on Sara’s ankles. Veronica had another pair of nylons, and soon Sara was hogtied beside Emily. Sara and Emily squirmed, strained against the bonds, but nylon stockings – even torn ones – were about as strong as steel cable. It was hopeless.
Vicky unclipped the leash from the dog’s collar and rewound it on the reel. “Looks like he passed his final, sis,” she said.
“This was a great idea,” Veronica said. “Here ya go,” she said to the dog, and tossed him a strip of beef jerky. He snatched it out of the air and devoured it.
“Please, don’t tickle! Let us go!” Sara begged.
“Save your breath,” Emily said. “You’ll need it. They’re gonna tickle the shit out of us.”
“That’s right,” Vicky said. “Payback for you, Emily – you didn’t think we’d forget, did you? And you, Sara – just because.”
The jeans and long sleeve shirts Emily and Sara wore weren’t conducive to whole body tickling, but foot tickling would be easy enough. Vicky kneeled at Emily’s feet and pulled off her sneakers and socks, exposing her bare feet. Veronica did the same with Sara.
“NOOOO!” Sara yelled.
“MUA-HAHAHAHA! The reign of terror continues!” Veronica said in a melodramatic voice. She traced one perfectly manicured nail along the tips of Sara’s toes, then down the right sole and arch to the heel.
“Hehehehe!” Sara giggled. “Don’t…haha…tickle…hehe…me-hehehehe! Sta-hahaha-ap!”
Veronica’s tickling fingers picked up speed, and Sara arched her back and burst into wild, uncontrollable ticklish laughter. Veronica held Sara’s toes back and drew fast, looping figure-eights around the balls of her feet. The loops got smaller, tighter, covering every square inch of ticklish flesh. Sara laughed at the top of her lungs.
Vicky tickled Emily’s heels, then up her arches to her soles. She tickled between Emily’s toes, scratching between each pair, then held them back and tickled the soft skin underneath. Emily bucked and squirmed, and her laughter went off the scale. Vicky had found THE SPOT, where Emily’s feet were unbearably ticklish. Then onto the stretched out soles, back and forth across both feet, and back up to the ticklish toes while Emily laughed her head off.
Vicky and Veronica were Jedi masters of tickling. The twins tickled their victims until Sara and Emily were red faced and gasping. They eased off a little, then picked up the pace again. Vicky tickled back and forth across Emily’s soles, watching the toes twitch and curl, then down the arches to her ticklish heels. She lingered there, scratching and scrabbling, then tickled back up to Emily’s toes. Veronica drew circles, squares and other tickling shapes in Sara’s arches, flicked and scratched her heels, then back to the ticklish soles again. She tickled the ball of the left foot, then the right, and repeated over and over. Both girls laughed and laughed, all resistance tickled out of them.
“Time for a breather,” Veronica said, and the tickling stopped. The twins stood and stretched. Sara and Emily laid there sweaty and red faced, trying to get their breathing and heart rates normal again.
“Are we having fun yet?” Vicky asked brightly.
“Oh ghod…” Sara gasped. “Please… no more… please don’t tickle me any more. I can’t take any more.”
Emily didn’t beg – she knew there was no point in doing so, and anyway, she wasn’t about to give these two the satisfaction.
“Nothing to say, Emily?” Veronica asked. “You had plenty to say when you tickled us that time.” She threaded a piece of coarse twine between Emily’s toes and drew it back and forth, forcing another burst of helpless ticklish laughter. She started at the left little toe, tickled her way across between each pair, then back again. Emily laughed like mad, eyes closed, tears of laughter streaming down her face.
Vicky held Sara’s toes back. She circled a single fingernail around the ball of Sara’s left foot, then the right, then covered both with fast, looping figure-eight’s. Sara howled with forced mirth and lapsed into ticklish delirium. Still holding the toes back, Vicky made a Peace sign and scratched the balls of both feet, right under the big toes, and Sara’s laughter went off the chart.
Ten minutes of tickle torture, and another short break.
“Foot notes next,” Veronica said. She extracted two ball point pens from a pocket, tossed one to Vicky.
Vicky grabbed Sara’s right foot, held the toes back and wrote very small on the ticklish skin:
“Four score and seven years ago, our forefathers brought forth upon this continent a new Nation…”
Veronica was of a more literary turn of mind – she started on Emily with:
“When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail…”
They used fancy calligraphy script, circled the periods and the dots on each “i”, darkened and underlined the lettering in the most ticklish spots. It tickled maddeningly. Sara and Emily laughed their heads off, howling with forced mirth, as the tickling pen tips scratched across their feet. The twins kept it up until Sara and Emily thought they would go crazy. All resistance had been tickled out of them. All they could do was laugh… and laugh… and laugh some more.
Vicky had to squeeze the lettering a little, but she finished the Gettysburg Address. Veronica’s poem was longer – it didn’t all fit, even though she tried. Well, no matter. They gave their victims a breather – just enough to catch their breath – then finished up with their fingernails. Sara and Emily laughed themselves breathless.
Sara and Emily were a mess, sweaty, grass and leaves tangled in their hair. Vicky cut their bonds with her balisong. They laid there gasping. Their ribs and abs ached from laughing, lungs feeling like they had run a long distance race.
“This worked great!” Vicky said. “I wonder how many more times we’ll get to use it before the rest of them get wise?”
“A few at least,” Veronica replied. “This dog is smarter than most of these girls.”
Vicky whistled for the dog. Spanky came bounding up. She scratched his ears and gave him another strip of jerky.
“Good dog!” she said.
***THE END***
Copyright 2003 by the author
Dramatis Personae (in order of appearance)
Brittany Righetti
Brittany is 18 years old and has lived on Tickle Street all of her life. She has long, dark hair and brown eyes, a beautiful Italian face and features, curves in all the right places. She has a bit of an attitude, but it can quickly be destroyed if she's tickled. She's by far the most ticklish person on Tickle Street.
Vicky and Veronica Righetti
Brittany’s older sisters. They’re "mirror twins" – identical, but Vicky, the leader, is a lefty (Latin “sinister”) and Veronica is right handed. They’re 20 years old, medium height, with very trim and fit figures that they maintain by martial arts. They have shoulder length wavy dark brown hair, dark brows and lashes, brown eyes. Like Brittany, they’re extremely ticklish, but since they’re a team, they don’t get tickled much.
Sara Rosen
She’s an 18-year-old adrenaline junkie, a risk-taker who likes to…let’s just say bend…the law. She’s built like Dolly Parton, a small girl with a slender waist and amazing upper body development. She has long dark brown hair, beautiful green eyes, and a fit, toned body. She’s extremely ticklish. She’s an enthusiastic tickler, on the principle that it’s more blessed to give than to receive.
Emily MacDonald
Emily is a petite girl with bright green eyes and a glorious mane of fiery red hair. She's somewhat older than the rest of the senior class at TCHS – she spent a year in rehab after a car wreck. She and her widowed father moved to Tickle Street last summer. Her ticklishness is her greatest weakness, she feels that it makes her too girly and weak.
…plus the Usual Suspects.
********************
The dog really did follow Brittany home from school. She had first noticed him the day after Easter break, while she was walking to school – he had followed her part of the way there. The next day, he had followed her all the way, and was waiting for her when she walked back to Tickle Street that afternoon.
He was skinny, dirty and collarless – Brittany guessed that he was living in the woods north of the neighborhood. He was medium size, about knee high on Brittany at his shoulders, with a shaggy brindle-colored coat and floppy ears. In other words, he was a Heinz – “57 Varieties” – with a lot of terrier in the mix.
Her fatal mistake was feeding him – after that, he was her pal for life. Mom was less than pleased. But Brittany gave Daddy her best puppy-eye look, and that settled it – Chuck Righetti was a sucker for his baby girl, and he brought Mom along.
Brittany named him Spanky. He was friendly enough, just out of puppyhood, energetic and eager to please. He was already housebroken, already knew a number of doggy tricks; evidently, some worthless bastard had gotten tired of him and dumped him in the woods. As dogs go, he was pretty bright. Brittany never had to show him a new trick more than once or twice.
And that attracted the attention of Brittany’s sisters, who joined her in training him and playing with him. Now that spring was here, Vicky and Veronica started taking Spanky for long walks in the woods. They told Brittany that they were giving him a special course of training.
Brittany knew better than to ask for details. She figured she was better off not knowing what they were up to.
***
The Ancient and Honorable Society of Vellatrices had their regular Saturday afternoon meeting at Candice’s house. They were all peeled down to bra and panties – the sort of tickling they did was hot work.
Brittany, Joanna, Meghan and Melissa started off with a noisy four-way tickle fight. Morgan and Ashley had decided on some foot tickling – Morgan had lost the toss, and was hogtied on the couch, laughing her head off. Emily joined Sara in tickling Candice – they tickled her from head to toe and every place between, until she was red faced and gasping for breath.
Not that Candice minded, of course.
The three girls took a break and watched the rest of the action.
Joanna, Meghan and Melissa had ganged up on Brittany, and she was really getting it – she was howling with forced mirth. Her wrists were tied together over her head, with Joanna kneeling on the loose ends of the rope to anchor it. Joanna’s hands roamed up and down Brittany’s ribs, getting on each rib and the spaces in between. Meghan straddled her hips – she tickled Brittany’s sides, onto and across her tummy, and back to the sides again, over and over. Melissa had Brittany’s ankles in a leg lock, tickling her feet with both hands. Brittany struggled and squirmed, laughing like mad, trying desperately to escape the tickling.
Morgan was laughing at the top of her lungs. As they watched, Ashley tickled between her toes with an electric tooth brush, then held them back and tickled the sweet spots – the exact center of her soles, along the creases – where it really, really tickled. Morgan wasn’t struggling any more, all resistance had been tickled out of her.
All in all, it was a normal Saturday afternoon. But for some reason, Sara wasn’t into the action today. She felt restless. Maybe it was the fine spring weather – it really was too nice a day to spend indoors.
When she mentioned it to the others, she found out that Emily felt the same way. Candice was a little disappointed – she and Sara had been playing tickling games since they were little kids – but there were plenty of others who wanted to play. Sara and Emily excused themselves and went upstairs to Candice’s room to get dressed.
Emily had always been different, but Sara had noticed another change today – Emily’s surgical scars had faded to imperceptibility. The doctors who had put her back together after the wreck had really known their business, Sara thought. Emily’s skin, so fair it seemed almost translucent, was clear and unblemished. Sara knew that Emily was older – she had missed a year of school after the wreck – but today she looked all of about 15 years old.
They dressed without saying much to each other – somehow, Emily had a way of making Sara feel like a willful, thoughtless and none-too-bright kid. Their relationship – it couldn’t really be called a friendship – was cordial and correct but not close. Of all the girls on Tickle Street, Sara knew that Emily liked her the least.
That bothered Sara. She decided to take a chance. “How about a walk in the Hundred Acre Wood, Emily?” she asked. “It’s really pretty this time of year.”
Emily considered before she answered. “OK,” she replied at last. “Sounds like fun. But we need sweat shirts and better shoes. Sneakers will do. Meet me at my house.”
Sara was a little surprised that Emily agreed to the expedition. She and Emily had gotten off to a rocky start last fall – Emily had blacked her eye. Back then, Emily had been… not unfriendly, really, but distant. She had been pleasant enough on the rare occasions when she troubled to pass the time with others. She was unfailingly polite, and she never complained. Candice, who was unusually perceptive for someone her age, had remarked to Sara that conflict is a form of intimacy. Quite obviously, Emily hadn’t wanted to be close to anybody.
The Vellatrices had finally succeeded in recruiting Emily last Halloween. She had opened up since then, and revealed another side of herself. She seemed to take more joy in life now, and took occasional risks for the sake of a good time – carefully calculated risks, not like Sara’s never-refuse-a-dare style. She was practical, down-to-earth, and an astute observer – she didn’t miss much, and could spot a liar through a stone wall. She had a nimble wit, a wry sense of humor, and (surprisingly) a taste for dreadful puns. Maybe they would get to know each other a little better today – Sara hoped so, anyway.
A few minutes later, Sara and Emily cut through Emily’s back yard and into the woods.
It wasn’t 100 acres, of course – it was actually about a mile square. But the neighborhood kids had called the wooded area north of Tickle Street the Hundred Acre Wood years ago, and the name had stuck. The area was hilly, rocky, heavily overgrown with second growth forest. Owl Creek entered it from the south before turning northeast between steep banks. An old railroad grade, long disused, crossed diagonally from southeast to northwest.
The day was perfect. It was bright, sunny, with just a few fluffy white clouds drifting overhead. The trees were just leafing out in pale green, the redbuds showed flashes of pink through the trees, wildflowers bloomed in the sunny spots. Bees droned among the blossoms. The songbirds were back, color and music on the wing.
“Look – the bluebirds are back,” Emily said. “I’ve always liked them. There’s just a few of them now – their population crashed just before the War.”
“What war, Emily?” Sara asked.
“Oh – World War II. Grandmother said there were flocks of them, but they just about disappeared 70 years ago. English sparrows crowded them out, about the same time the blight killed the chestnut trees. It’s too bad.”
They hiked along the trail to Owl Creek, then turned left at the fork and followed the creekside trail to the abandoned railroad grade and the old iron truss railroad bridge. There was a pool just downstream, scoured out by the stream flowing between the bridge abutments. A rope tied to an overhanging tree branch suggested that the pool was used as a swimming hole. But it was still too cool to even think about swimming.
The near-side bank was steep – the opposite bank had a gentler slope. The two girls crossed the bridge and climbed down to the water’s edge. Emily dipped her hand in the water – it was icy cold.
“There’s a place downstream that’s really nice,” Sara said.
“I remember – that’s where I punched your lights out,” Emily replied.. “Relax – I won’t do it again. Maybe we can get there along the bank.”
But the creek was running high with the spring rains. It rushed between the bridge piers and made white water over the rocks. The water was too high to walk downstream – the stream just about filled its banks.. They returned the way they came, recrossed the bridge and headed back along the trail.
The trail forked, and they turned right, away from the creek. This trail opened out into a clearing a little bigger than a football field, bright with wildflowers and new spring grass. At one end was an area of tumbled stones and a single feral rose bush, not yet in bloom.
“There was a cabin here a long time ago,” Sara explained. “These stones are what’s left of the fireplace and chimney.”
“I know,” Emily replied. “That flat rock next to the rose bush – that’s the sill stone for the door. The hearth stone is over there.”
Emily looked around, pointed. “They buried their dead on top of that hill. Have you ever been there? You have to know what to look for – it’s pretty well overgrown.”
She stood quietly, gazing pensively toward the overgrown cemetery, then continued. “It was always the high places, and always facing East, to be ready for the morning of Judgement Day,” she said. “These folks outlined the graves with rocks, and carved the headstones themselves. Soft stone… the names and dates are gone now… I wonder who they were...”
“It doesen’t matter,” Sara said with the callousness of the young. “They’ve all been dead for over a hundred years.”
“They were people like us, Sara,” Emily said quietly. “They had lives, families, friends and enemies. Just making a living here was a triumph – this land would be hard to farm. Tragedies too – some of those graves were small – children’s graves.” She paused, then continued. “They built this country. They deserve your respect.”
It made Sara uncomfortable – Emily had done it to her again. Emily’s appearance hadn’t changed, but her demeanor had. It was the sort of lecture Sara might have expected from someone of her grandmother’s generation, someone feeling the cold wind of her own approaching mortality.
And that was preposterous – Emily couldn’t be much more than 19 years old. It must be an artifact of her near-death experience in the wreck. Sara mumbled something apologetic and changed the subject.
Emily was willing – the moment had passed, and she really didn’t want to spoil the day. In her own way, she was trying as hard as Sara to make things right between them. She showed Sara some of the wild herbs that grew in the clearing and the edge of the forest, explained the uses of each – not merit badge stuff, but solid, detailed, practical information. That was almost as disconcerting as the lecture had been. Where had she learned those things?
Emily eventually wound down, and the girls flopped down on the soft spring grass. They laid there on their backs in companionable silence for an hour or so, listening to the birds and watching the clouds drifting by. Sara had almost drifted off to sleep when…
A dog barked some distance away. It must have stirred up the crows – a flock of them flew over, cawing.
The girls sat up to investigate. Two crows, bolder than their companions, had landed on a bare branch across the clearing.
“Count the crows,” Emily said. “One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a burial, four for a birth. Looks like we’re in for a few laughs, Sara.”
She had done it again! “Where did that come from, Emily?” Sara asked.
“I had a neighbor once, an old lady from the West Virginia mountains. She used to say that.” The answer was truthful, as far as it went. “The holler she came from isn’t there any more – Mr. Peabody’s coal train hauled it away.”
A brindle-colored mutt ran out into the clearing, then doubled back into the woods. That was Brittany’s dog. Maybe she had left the tickle party early too.
But Vicky and Veronica entered the clearing, the dog at their heels. They had gone for the expedition look today – hiking clothes with lots of pockets, long-billed caps, solid shoes.
Uh-oh, thought Sara. She knew all too well that the twins were fiendish, inventive and enthusiastic ticklers. Being tickled by them was an experience not easily forgotten. She stood and gave Emily a hand up – they might have to run for it.
Vicky pulled a retractable reel-type leash out of a pocket and clipped it to the dog’s collar. “Hey Sara! What brings you and Emily out here?” she called out.
“We’re just loafing,” Sara replied, “same as you two.” They’re up to something, she thought as the twins approached.
“Loafing? Moi? I’m walking my dog,” Vicky said with mock indignation.
“We’ve been giving him a special course of training…” Veronica added.
“…and it looks like we’re about to give him his final exam,” Vicky finished the thought.
The twins had closed in. They were now about fifteen feet away from Sara and Emily – too far away to grab them. Sara glanced at Emily, and saw that she was poised on the balls of her feet, ready for fight or flight.
Vicky tripped the release on the leash reel. “Spanky – LOOP!” she called out.
The dog trotted over to Emily, who stepped aside warily, keeping him in sight. He passed her and crossed around behind. What in the world…?
Spanky dug in and ran around Emily twice, then back toward Vicky. Vicky locked the reel and gave a yank. The leash tightened around Emily’s ankles and pulled her feet out from under her.
“Hey!” Sara said, and reached down to help Emily up. “RUN FOR IT, SARA!” Emily yelled.
But the twins were too fast. They were already moving before Sara could even turn to run. They tackled her and brought her down. Veronica sat on her and subdued her with a joint lock. Vicky zip-tied her ankles together and immobilized her.
Emily tried to kick free of the leash, but Vicky grabbed it and pulled the loop tight. Veronica pulled a pair of old nylons out of a pocket, and the twins overpowered Emily and hogtied her with them.
Vicky flicked open her balisong and cut the zip-tie on Sara’s ankles. Veronica had another pair of nylons, and soon Sara was hogtied beside Emily. Sara and Emily squirmed, strained against the bonds, but nylon stockings – even torn ones – were about as strong as steel cable. It was hopeless.
Vicky unclipped the leash from the dog’s collar and rewound it on the reel. “Looks like he passed his final, sis,” she said.
“This was a great idea,” Veronica said. “Here ya go,” she said to the dog, and tossed him a strip of beef jerky. He snatched it out of the air and devoured it.
“Please, don’t tickle! Let us go!” Sara begged.
“Save your breath,” Emily said. “You’ll need it. They’re gonna tickle the shit out of us.”
“That’s right,” Vicky said. “Payback for you, Emily – you didn’t think we’d forget, did you? And you, Sara – just because.”
The jeans and long sleeve shirts Emily and Sara wore weren’t conducive to whole body tickling, but foot tickling would be easy enough. Vicky kneeled at Emily’s feet and pulled off her sneakers and socks, exposing her bare feet. Veronica did the same with Sara.
“NOOOO!” Sara yelled.
“MUA-HAHAHAHA! The reign of terror continues!” Veronica said in a melodramatic voice. She traced one perfectly manicured nail along the tips of Sara’s toes, then down the right sole and arch to the heel.
“Hehehehe!” Sara giggled. “Don’t…haha…tickle…hehe…me-hehehehe! Sta-hahaha-ap!”
Veronica’s tickling fingers picked up speed, and Sara arched her back and burst into wild, uncontrollable ticklish laughter. Veronica held Sara’s toes back and drew fast, looping figure-eights around the balls of her feet. The loops got smaller, tighter, covering every square inch of ticklish flesh. Sara laughed at the top of her lungs.
Vicky tickled Emily’s heels, then up her arches to her soles. She tickled between Emily’s toes, scratching between each pair, then held them back and tickled the soft skin underneath. Emily bucked and squirmed, and her laughter went off the scale. Vicky had found THE SPOT, where Emily’s feet were unbearably ticklish. Then onto the stretched out soles, back and forth across both feet, and back up to the ticklish toes while Emily laughed her head off.
Vicky and Veronica were Jedi masters of tickling. The twins tickled their victims until Sara and Emily were red faced and gasping. They eased off a little, then picked up the pace again. Vicky tickled back and forth across Emily’s soles, watching the toes twitch and curl, then down the arches to her ticklish heels. She lingered there, scratching and scrabbling, then tickled back up to Emily’s toes. Veronica drew circles, squares and other tickling shapes in Sara’s arches, flicked and scratched her heels, then back to the ticklish soles again. She tickled the ball of the left foot, then the right, and repeated over and over. Both girls laughed and laughed, all resistance tickled out of them.
“Time for a breather,” Veronica said, and the tickling stopped. The twins stood and stretched. Sara and Emily laid there sweaty and red faced, trying to get their breathing and heart rates normal again.
“Are we having fun yet?” Vicky asked brightly.
“Oh ghod…” Sara gasped. “Please… no more… please don’t tickle me any more. I can’t take any more.”
Emily didn’t beg – she knew there was no point in doing so, and anyway, she wasn’t about to give these two the satisfaction.
“Nothing to say, Emily?” Veronica asked. “You had plenty to say when you tickled us that time.” She threaded a piece of coarse twine between Emily’s toes and drew it back and forth, forcing another burst of helpless ticklish laughter. She started at the left little toe, tickled her way across between each pair, then back again. Emily laughed like mad, eyes closed, tears of laughter streaming down her face.
Vicky held Sara’s toes back. She circled a single fingernail around the ball of Sara’s left foot, then the right, then covered both with fast, looping figure-eight’s. Sara howled with forced mirth and lapsed into ticklish delirium. Still holding the toes back, Vicky made a Peace sign and scratched the balls of both feet, right under the big toes, and Sara’s laughter went off the chart.
Ten minutes of tickle torture, and another short break.
“Foot notes next,” Veronica said. She extracted two ball point pens from a pocket, tossed one to Vicky.
Vicky grabbed Sara’s right foot, held the toes back and wrote very small on the ticklish skin:
“Four score and seven years ago, our forefathers brought forth upon this continent a new Nation…”
Veronica was of a more literary turn of mind – she started on Emily with:
“When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail…”
They used fancy calligraphy script, circled the periods and the dots on each “i”, darkened and underlined the lettering in the most ticklish spots. It tickled maddeningly. Sara and Emily laughed their heads off, howling with forced mirth, as the tickling pen tips scratched across their feet. The twins kept it up until Sara and Emily thought they would go crazy. All resistance had been tickled out of them. All they could do was laugh… and laugh… and laugh some more.
Vicky had to squeeze the lettering a little, but she finished the Gettysburg Address. Veronica’s poem was longer – it didn’t all fit, even though she tried. Well, no matter. They gave their victims a breather – just enough to catch their breath – then finished up with their fingernails. Sara and Emily laughed themselves breathless.
Sara and Emily were a mess, sweaty, grass and leaves tangled in their hair. Vicky cut their bonds with her balisong. They laid there gasping. Their ribs and abs ached from laughing, lungs feeling like they had run a long distance race.
“This worked great!” Vicky said. “I wonder how many more times we’ll get to use it before the rest of them get wise?”
“A few at least,” Veronica replied. “This dog is smarter than most of these girls.”
Vicky whistled for the dog. Spanky came bounding up. She scratched his ears and gave him another strip of jerky.
“Good dog!” she said.
***THE END***
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